


Arms

by SpicyReyes



Series: Why Do Fools Fall In Love? [3]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: 'pre ship' is used very loosely because this is Gay, 'that was GAY', Bedsharing, Connor the Wife™, Gen, M/M, Oblivious Connor, Two Bros Platonically Watching Each Other Sleep, this is gonna be one of those things they look back on later and think 'oh'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 13:40:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14874798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicyReyes/pseuds/SpicyReyes
Summary: Androids in stasis were still aware of their surroundings, for the most part, which makes it very hard to ignore a necessary contact agreement slowly giving way into something closer.





	Arms

**Author's Note:**

> me, obsessively grinding out connor/hank fics while ignoring my pile of drafts: the android son takes precedence!! he needs love!!!

Connor ended up appropriating Hank’s handcuffs - scolding him for having them tossed casually on top of a pile of dirty laundry instead of put somewhere he wouldn’t lose them - and using them to cuff his left hand to the bottom leg of the headboard, forcing his arm to hang down off the side of the bed. The awkward positioning would make it impossible for him to get out without getting up and crouching down beside the mattress, which was inconvenient enough to guarantee Hank at  _ least _ an extra twenty seconds, passing into the safe zone of his calculated timing. It wasn’t perfect, but it was acceptable. 

To his side, Hank settled in, laying on his stomach and extending a hand to drop down against Connor’s chest. 

“Goodnight, Lieutenant,” Connor said.

“Yeah, night,” Hank mumbled back, voice muffled from where he had his face half-buried in pillows already.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Connor closed his eyes, and carefully switched into stasis. 

  
  
  
  


Time in stasis passed oddly, feeling almost as though the world was on fast-forward. He was aware of the weight on his chest, shifting occasionally as Hank moved in his sleep, but the sensation felt far away. He was keeping track of the diagnostic messages that passed, but his conscious mind felt them just flying by as blurs. Everything moved quickly, which he presumed was his brain condensing memory to save processing power.

The end result was that it barely felt like he’d been resting long before his eyes snapped back open, coming out of stasis abruptly for reasons unknown.

It was still night, the room still dark and no light peeking through Hank’s curtains, and a quick internal clock check declared it just after two in the morning.

He thought for a moment that he’d simply repaired all damaged systems to the extent he needed, but there were still low power alerts for some of his biocomponents and he could feel bugs slowing down his information databases.

It took him a moment, then, to realize what had startled him... _ awake _ , he supposed. 

Hank had moved.

Not by much - his hand was still on Connor, but it had inched from the center of his chest to rest more on his shoulder. That was not what was alarming, though. That was the fact that Hank was most likely not prone to sleeping on his stomach of his own accord, and his body had corrected his behavioral change by turning him onto his side...leaving him angled toward Connor, curled slightly forward, one leg pressed up against Connor’s and head resting just a hair’s breadth from leaning on his shoulder, the man’s soft, warm breaths occasionally stimulating the sensors along his neck.

_ UNEVEN HEAT DISTRIBUTION. _

Connor caught the error and immediately started a timer, trying to estimate if this one lasted longer.

When a full minute passed without the error even flickering, he started to get more than a little concerned by it. 

He had the briefest thought of waking Hank, but decided not to disturb the man. That also ruled out getting up, because Hank had claimed that would wake him immediately, and would likely worry him in the process. It was best for him to try and maintain the error on his own.

An idea occurred to him, and he let out a low breath, irritated by the sheer desperation implied by the action he was about to take.

He reached up, fingers threading under his shirt - sparing a thought to realize he should probably get different clothes, rather than the CyberLife suit coat - and lifting the fabric up, letting his skin retract to reveal his temperature regulator. He took a deep breath, held it, and twisted the component, pulling it completely out of his stomach.

Immediately, static flooded his vision, as well as dark red alerts to system instability. A timer appeared on the edge of his field of view, counting down the two minutes he had to do his diagnostic and repair before he would shut down. 

He lifted the pump - at an awkward angle, trying not to jostle Hank’s arm as he moved beneath it - and fought through the static and feedback of his vision to scan the bicomponent. 

_ Component functional,  _ his HUD informed him.  _ No maintenance necessary.  _

That didn’t make  _ sense.  _ Irritated, he turned the biocomponent around, scanning it at several more angles.

Every scan came up the same way: completely normal.

The clock started to flash, letting him know he was down to thirty seconds, and he shoved the regulator back into place harshly in his annoyance.

A bad move, in retrospect, because the abrupt feedback from the connection had him letting out a small, uncomfortable grunt, and he had to hold his breath as Hank stirred beside him.

Luckily, after a moment, the man let out a soft breath of his own and settled back in...this time letting his head tip forward that last little bit, nose and forehead pressing against the top right side of Connor’s head, burying into his hair.

That probably wasn’t comfortable, Connor thought, considering his hair was rather coarse in order to maintain its style without any gels or external product use, but Hank’s soft sighs did not sound any less content for it. 

He carefully did not tip his head again, letting Hank rest where his body had chosen to put him, and ran another full diagnostic.

There was nothing  _ wrong  _ with him, as far as he could tell. As a last ditch effort, he focused on the error still demanding his attention, and ripped into it, pulling up the full code. 

Editing his own code was more than a little risky, but he was desperate at this point.

_ External stimuli detected. System instability detected. Pseudo-adrenaline released. Thirium 310 channels dilated. High Thirium concentration in the following components: #8451, #1503k, #1101f.  _

His ‘heart rate’ regulator, controlling his Thirium pump, his lower abdomen, and one of his skin synthesisers. 

System instability in reaction to external stimuli. Stress? No, he didn’t get the error when distressed.

It must have been his system trying to react to his emotional responses. High emotional response led to unstable Thirium redistribution. 

At least he knew now that nothing was actually being damaged, and with that in mind, he edited the alert, reducing it to a temperate symbol in the upper left corner of his vision. He had a feeling it would be bothering him a lot in the days to come, so it was best to stop it from being intrusive, but he wasn’t so careless as to shut off the alert entirely. 

That sorted, he let his eyes close again, and reached for his stasis mode again.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Hank had a lot of opinions about a lot of things, and he was usually pretty firm about his stance on an issue. Androids, unfortunately, were the exception.

They were weird, existing in the personality version of the uncanny valley: almost human, but not quite, settling in an unsettling middle ground. 

Connor was, perhaps, the worst example of this. When Hank had met Connor, he’d been heavily annoyed with the concept of having a robot programed to follow him around and nag him about rules, only to be taken aback when the android bought him a drink of all things.

Sure, he’d done it in the most awkward, ‘I saw this on TV’ style drink order Hank had ever seen, but the intent behind the gesture had been good. Connor could have simply returned to the police station and told them Hank refused to cooperate, and his discipline file would have gotten one sheet larger and the whole thing would have been over.

Connor had talked him into it, though, and that probably had a lot to do with why Hank was chosen to lead the investigation. Fowler probably saw a chance to get Hank to actually do his fucking job for once and jumped on it. 

Looking back, he marvelled at the memory of how eager Connor had been to be liked. If pressed, he’d have likely excused it as needing to be valued as a partner or some shit, but Hank knew better.

Connor didn’t shoot the girls at the Eden Club because he didn’t think they deserved to die. He didn’t shoot the girl at Kamski’s because he empathized with her. He let a deviant escape to save Hank from falling off a roof.

At his core, a genuine compassion for others was a fundamental part of who Connor was.

These were all things he’d decided over time, and accepted as facts, but they came crashing back to him in a startling wave when he stirred awake with his nose pressed into Connor’s and his full arm having draped across the android’s chest, rather than just resting his hand there.

Awkward.

At least Connor seemed to still be asleep. Or, well, in ‘stasis.’ He’d expected it to look something like when Connor would close his eyes to report to CyberLife - apparently dipping into the program he’d told Hank about - but this was...different. Ever so slightly.

In his reporting mode, or whatever technical term the android undoubtedly had for it, Connor had more or less looked the same as ever, just with his eyes closed.

This was a different thing entirely, with Connor’s face slack in a way that was somewhat eerie. He looked like some kind of doll, far more plastic than usual. With this image in front of him it was hard to understand how he’d ever thought of Connor as a simple machine, when his face was so vastly more emotive than this blank slate in front of him. 

Once he got over the initial creepiness of the stasis mode, it was actually pretty interesting to see what Connor looked like without an expression of mild anger or veiled offense scrunching it up. 

(Maybe he should stop provoking those reactions from the android so much, considering they were his main comparison, but it was just so fun to fluster him into a response.)

Connor was weirdly...pretty. All androids tended to he attractive, even models that had no need to be, like factory workers that rarely actually interacted with humans at all. Connor, however, had the sort of facial design he could only compare to the sexbots at the Eden Club. Long eyelashes, soft features, a general boyish appearance that combined with his gentle brown eyes to create a deadly level of puppy-like cuteness. Between his looks and his charm, always torn between sarcasm and innocence, Connor had the potential to break some serious hearts. He wondered if the now independent androids would start using their free will to try and proposition him, which was…

Weirdly, it was a conflicting image. On one hand, a bunch of androids bugging Connor sounded annoying as hell. On the other, the idea of how Connor would react to such a thing was  _ highly  _ entertaining. 

Would he even realize what was being asked of him? Innuendo and subtleties weren't in his little mental dictionary. 

He thought then of the Eden Club, and Connor’s expressionless face as his eyes trailed over tube after tube of sexbots and several stripteasing androids, LED spinning to show that he was scanning away at everything, focus devoted solely to the case. 

Even Hank had been slightly distracted in the club, eyes drifting every few moments and then being forced to snap back to a neutral area, rather than look at the ones who were on display like...like vending machines, really, when you thought about the tubes. It was extremely gross, and he’d thought so the whole time he was there. When he saw the place, he hadn't even been that bothered by the murder. If he had to deal with creeps like those droids did, the perv would be found in a lot worse state than the Traci had left him in. 

But while he was weighing all that, Connor didn't even seem to be fully aware of the environment. He’d called it a sex club when teasing Hank into going along with the case, so he clearly knew what it was, but he had walked by stripper androids and perverts buying 'sessions’ and generally dismissed all of it. 

Also, he put his fingers in his mouth after touching the sheets in that room, so he was definitely not aware enough to realize that was  _ fucking nasty. _

Speculating on Connor’s seemingly nonexistent sexuality was probably weird, especially combined with the fact that he’d been watching the android sleep for a good few minutes at that point.

He figured it was probably time to get out of bed, and reached up, snacking Connor’s cheek to wake him. 

Connor’s eyes snapped open, and watching all the muscles in his face regain life was oddly relieving. 

“Hey there,” Hank greeted. “I figured our work-around only worked if I stayed here, and I'm getting up. So... morning, sunshine.”

“Good morning,” Connor returned immediately. “What would you like for breakfast?”

Hank shrugged, moving to climb out of bed. “I’ll probably just eat one of those toaster things on the counter.”

To his surprise and infinite confusion, the statement was met by an immediate offended noise and Connor declaring “Absolutely  _ not.”  _

Hank should have left him asleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> connor is gonna get a station job just so he can hover over hanks shoulder on his lunch every day and make sure he eats something decent  
> which will probably result in hank going on a quest to find the nastiest shady taco stands and order a highly suspect burrito just for the satisfaction of watching connor scan it in sheer horror


End file.
